


Scars

by notjustmom



Series: Epiphany [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Afghanistan, Epic Friendships, Established Relationship, Flash Forward, Flashbacks, Fluff with Angst, M/M, Scars, Sussex, Wedding, angst with fluff, story from the time away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thought this would be a one chapter bit...maybe not...sigh... :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Right before they wheeled Sherlock into surgery to do the repair work on his knee, he looked up at John with foggy eyes and whispered: "I don't know why you put up with me..." then he was out cold. John watched the bed until it disappeared through the double doors, then went to join Molly who was pacing in the hallway.

"Why on earth do you let him do that crap still?" She was doing her best impression of mama bear, though he knew she held Sherlock completely responsible for getting himself hurt.

John stood in front of her, crossed his arms and sighed, rolling his eyes at her. "Since when -"

"No. Shit. I'm sorry. I know better than anyone. As a kid, he was always climbing trees and walls, he would do things that terrified me, but I would always go with him."

"Why?" John was honestly curious; he knew why he did it, he wanted to know why she had.

"Because I didn't want him to get hurt and be alone. There is nothing worse than to be hurt and alone."

"Moll?" He sat her down in one of the chairs that lined the hallway and took her hands in his.

"No, I'm fine. Whenever there's a chance he won't...I know it's just knee surgery, but he doesn't always do well with...you know."

John nodded, let go of her hands and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He opened them again when she began speaking softly.

Molly rolled up her sleeves and showed him scars that were over fifty years old. "My brothers - I was essentially target practice, or a punching bag until Sherlock's dad stopped them. They still hated me after that, but they left me alone. They tried apologising later, I wouldn't talk to them. Maybe that's petty, but -"

"No, sweetie, they abused you, you do not have to talk to them or forgive them, you don't have to lessen their pain -"

"My last surviving brother died last week."

"Shit."

"I read his obituary yesterday. Sounds like he was a decent guy. After. Had a wife, kids. I have nieces and nephews I'll never know. My choice. I don't regret it. Not really. My childhood was - if I had never met Sherlock - I wouldn't be who I am, probably wouldn't be here at all. That's why I'm pissed at him for getting himself hurt. I can't imagine my life without him in it -"

"I know. He just thinks he's invincible. He still thinks he's thirty, or twenty-five. Even though it's not as easy to get up in the morning, on those days when he actually sleeps, and he needs to wear the glasses he always forgets are in his curls somewhere. He was already using a cane when that knee would bother him - but he thinks he's immortal, it's like he's a cat, on his sixth life, he thinks he has three more."

They sat together for a moment. Then John took her hand in his. "When he finally let me, after he was back, when he let me, really take care of him, he was ashamed. Ashamed of his scars, he saw them as appropriate punishment for what he saw as his failure." Molly leaned into him. "He asked me why I wanted him back. Why I was still there, why I hadn't just gone on with my life after he jumped."

"What did you tell him?" Molly whispered.

"Nothing, there was nothing I could say that would convince him that I loved him as he was, no matter how changed he was. Until one night, he wouldn't come to bed. He was working on some experiment, or reading, something... I took him by the hand, sat him on the bed and undressed for him. I laid his fingers on my bad shoulder, took his face in my hands and made him look me in the eyes."

" 'Do you love me less?' "

" 'Don't be ridiculous. It isn't the same, and you know it.' "

" 'No, it isn't the same. You got those scars and the nightmares that go with them because you left to protect your family. I went to war to serve my Queen, to get away from my family, do something big, I thought. I got hurt doing my job. You almost died alone because you were trying to make sure those you loved were safe. You are right, it is not the same.' "

"He let me undress him, treat the wounds that still needed ointment, and for the first time since he had returned, he laid his head on my chest and let me hold him as he fell asleep. He slept for six hours, before he woke up, and didn't know where he was. He was trying to find me. You are the reason he let me get close again. I never thanked you for that, after all this time. So, thank you." He looked down at the floor, for some reason, he couldn't meet her eyes.

Molly shook her head, and moved to sit in front of him. "No, John. You have always been able to share him with us, you let us have him back when he returned, not many people would be willing to do that, after losing him like that, especially -"

"Shhh..." John helped her back into her seat, but didn't let go of her hand. They sat quietly, on the edge of sleep until the surgeon came out.

"Dr. Watson, Dr. Lestrade?" 

"Yes!?" They both stood up shakily, hand in hand.

"He's out of surgery, sleeping it off, you should be able to take him home this evening, we know how much he enjoys staying with us, but you should be able to deal with his meds, then we'll work on getting him into rehab, he'll be as good as, or better than he was before. I did notice some deep scarring, not related to his knee issue, anything I should know?"

John sighed. "He was tortured many years ago, they are just remnants, reminders -"

"Understood. He'll be groggy, a little confused when he wakes up -"

"I know the drill. Moll, do you want to stay -"

"Are you sure?"

John nodded. "He was worried he'd really pissed you off this time, he needs to know -"

"Idiot. Yeah, I'll stay, we can work a puzzle while we wait?" 

"Sure." John cracked a real smile for the first time that day.

 

John had fallen asleep in his chair waiting for Sherlock to wake up.

"John?" Sherlock whispered hoarsely a few hours after he was delivered to Recovery.

"Shhh, you're okay, he just fell asleep, he's knackered."

"Molls? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean -" He tried to find her hand, but was still too fuzzy.

"No, love, I'm sorry." She took his hand in both of hers. "I know you, I know how you are, how you've always been, who you will always be. I got angry because I don't want to lose you again. No matter how long we live, it will never be long enough, you know that, don't you?"

He blinked at her and nodded. "I know, sweetie, I know." He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes again. "Just need a nap, will you tell me something good that happened?"

"Becca got that internship she had applied for, to work in the Bodleian? I think you might have helped with that?"

"Uh-uh, she asked me to keep out of it, Myc, too, she wanted to see if she could do it on her own. That is good - what else?"

"Greg got that promotion that he, that we wanted -"

"Not sure that's good news, he always hated paperwork."

"Regular schedule, more vacation, bigger salary..."

"You'll see him more, that is good news then...what else..."

"You."

"Me?"

"You are still here so I can tell you how much you mean to me."

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "I always know, Molls; especially when you yell at me for being a first-class moron when I pull stupid stunts like that. I know you love me."

"I do." She whispered. She held his hand tighter as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.


	2. always a first time...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Becca in the A & E, not for Sherlock; John doesn't sew Becca up because he's too shaky after she fell from the monkey bars.

"It's okay to cry."

"Babies cry, I'm not a baby."

"You didn't cry much when you were a baby. If it hurts, it's okay to cry."

Becca looked at Sherlock's hand that she a had death grip on and saw one of the many scars that traversed his large hand. She pointed to a deep one, a knife wound, from early in his partnership with John. "Did you cry when Uncle John stitched that one up?"

"Uhm, no, probably not."

Becca frowned. "It looks like it would have hurt."

"It did, it hurt like - it hurt a lot."

"Why didn't you cry?"

"I only cry when I'm happy."

"What?"

"Or when I'm frustrated. Or really, really bored."

"But not when something hurts."

"Not usually."

"She's all done, brave girl, no tears at all."

Becca looked at the A & E doctor and with her usual four-yearoldness asked, "Why is it brave not to cry?"

The doctor looked at her, then at Sherlock who almost successfully hid a smirk, then back at the white-faced but determined little girl who seemed to want an answer. "I don't know, really, I guess people think other people are brave when they act like things don't hurt."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to answer that."

"Okay." Becca waited patiently as the doctor placed a gauze over the stitches he had just sewn over her left eyebrow, then taped it. 

"Don't-"

"I know," Sherlock sighed. "Don't let it get wet, if it gets infected, bring her in, etc. etc..."

"Done this before, have you?"

"A few times, unfortunately. Come on, Bee, time we got a move on."

"Is Mum going be upset?"

"Hmmm...she may ask what happened to the other guy, but no, probably not. She knows these things happen. I've already talked to her, she said for us to get a treat after."

"Before dinner?"

"Yup." He picked her up from the table, nodded his thanks to the young doctor, who was still shaking his head over the prodigal child, and they went out to meet John in the hallway.

"All set?"

"Yup. Now, what kind of treat do you want?"

"I want to go back to the playground."

"Bee..." Sherlock knelt in front of her.

"Please? It was my fault, I need to try again. It wasn't your fault, you guys."

Sherlock and John looked at each other, and sighed.

"How about we go to a different park and feed the ducks?" John suggested.

"The one with the pirate ship?" Becca smiled and clapped her hands.

Sherlock groaned.

"Yes, the one with the pirate ship, but you have to promise to be caref -"

Becca hugged John's knees and squealed.

As they walked out the door, Becca asked, "will it leave a scar?"

"Hmmm...maybe, it was twelve stitches. Just have to wait and see."

 

"You're stunning, Bee." Sherlock kissed Becca above her left eyebrow, and she smiled at him. 

"I remember."

"You almost gave me a heart attack that day. It wasn't the last time."

"You've already cried today."

Sherlock glared at the back of John's head. "He told you."

"No, it was Mum, and your eyes are still puffy."

"I told you, I only cry when I'm bored, frustrated or really, truly happy."

"I'm assuming you aren't bored or frustrated."

He shook his head. 

"It's okay to cry, you know."

"I loathe crying. It's difficult to sell the 'sociopathic' label if one is seen crying at a nieces' wedding."

"You can always claim allergies."

"How did you get to be so smart?"

"I have a brilliant uncle."

"Ah. It doesn't show that much, you know." He looked at the slightly paler narrow line that angled above her eyebrow.

"Missa likes it, she says it makes me look slightly dangerous."

"I knew I loved her for a reason."

"It's time. Go sit."

"Love you." He kissed her once more and turned away.

"Ditto." She whispered with a tear in her eye, as she watched him limp to his seat next to John.


	3. a teachable moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by Realization by scrub456  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7386658

John slowly removed Becca's stitches from above her left eyebrow. She was perched on Sherlock's chair, as it had the best light in the flat.

He had one more left when she reached out a tentative finger and touched the angry red mark left by the bullet that had grazed him years before. He took a sharp breath in and swore almost silently.

"Damn!"

"Uncle John?"

"No, it's fine, just surprised me is all." He breathed out and kissed her nose. "It's okay, Bee."

"What's it from?"

"A bad guy." He pulled the last stitch out and put a fresh bandage over the rawness that remained. "A bad guy was trying to hurt your Uncle 'Lock, and I got in the way, to stop the bad guy." Sherlock walked into the room as Becca kissed John's scar.

"Thank you, Uncle John."

John nodded at her, then looked up at Sherlock, whose expression was unreadable. John blinked away and whispered to Becca, "I think it's time for a snack, go in the kitchen and I'll be there in a minute, yeah?"

"Okey-doke." She hopped up, gave Sherlock a quick knee hug, then pulled herself up onto one of the stools and waited quietly.

"Not now." John sighed as he walked past Sherlock and into their bedroom. "I can't discuss this now. Later?"

Sherlock nodded and went into the kitchen. "What do you feel like, Bee? A bit of tea and toast? We have the honey and strawberry jam you like."

"Tea and toast! Tea and toast! Yes, please, Uncle 'Lock." 

Sherlock made her a cup of milky tea, with lots of honey, and made her two pieces of toast, one slathered in strawberry jam, the other in the special honey that John found - on some case, somewhere...

"Uncle 'Lock." After thoughtfully munching for a moment or two, Becca put her toast down and managed to look sternly at Sherlock, even with jam dotting her nose and cheeks and smeared around her mouth. He knew he was in trouble.

"Bee?" Sherlock waited patiently.

"How could you let Uncle John get hurt?" Her eyes were daggers and her bottom lip trembled.

"I - "

"I'm waiting." She slid down from her stool, and stood before him, arms crossed, tears threatening to fall.

"It's complic-" Sherlock started.

"No. It isn't. It ISN'T compwicated - you grownups always say that when you don't want to 'splain- expw- you KNOW what I mean."

John returned and stood between the miniature Fury and a silent Sherlock.

"Bee, come 'ere, love. Please?" He knelt in front of her, arms outstretched. She looked up at Sherlock, then at John, burst into tears and ran into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder.

"Remember when you fell from the monkey bars, and your Uncle 'Lock got upset, not with you, but with himself for not moving fast enough so you didn't get hurt?" Becca nodded and sniffled against John's shoulder. "Well, a long time ago, before you were born, I almost got hurt really badly, and it scared your Uncle 'Lock so much that he got really mad at me, and at your dad, and your Aunt Sally, mostly he got mad at himself, because he blamed himself for me getting hurt. It's something that is hard for us to talk about, because it makes us a bit sad, but it wasn't his fault or my fault, it was the bad guy's fault and I was in the wrong place. It is true I was in the wrong place because I thought your Uncle 'Lock might get hurt, but it wasn't his fault, even though he still thinks it is." 

"Well, that's jus' silly." Becca sniffed.

"Yeah, it is." John stood up and carried her back to the table, where she managed to eat four pieces of toast and drink two cups of tea. 

 

"I'm sorry." Sherlock whispered to John's back as John was on the edge of sleep that night.

"What for?" John turned in his husband's arms and looked into Sherlock's eyes. "Sweetie, no. Don't, please."

"I - damn it, John. I never meant to punish you for -"

"We've never quite dealt with it properly, have we?" Sherlock shook his head. "You started taking less cases after that, because you stopped trusting me -" John rolled away from him.

"No, John, no. Not that, never that. God, is that what you thought? All this time? Please look at me?" John turned back and glared at him.

"Then what was it?"

"I couldn't risk losing you, because of my failures. I almost lost you that time because I hadn't put the pieces together fast enough. I, it's me, John, I lost the confidence that I can do it, solve the puzzles, since that case. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you on a crime scene because I was wrong. I've always trusted you, always. It was me I couldn't trust anymore. I'm so sorry - I never meant for you to think -" Sherlock started to get out of bed.

"No. Stop right there. We are both getting too old for this shit. We are going to hash this out right now. Damn it, Sherlock, listen to me, please?" 

"Why?" Sherlock asked, sounding defeated.

"Why?!? You are still carrying this around with you, have been, for what, over five years? It's enough. Enough. Please, come here. I need you to hear me, I need you to look at me. Lie down. Now."

Sherlock laid back down and waited. John straddled his legs and looked down at the man beneath him. He took Sherlock's left hand and placed it against the scar on his neck. "This is NOT your fault, never was. It NEVER was. Like I said to Bee today, it was the fault of the arsehole who made the choice to attempt to take you away from me. Not your fault." He closed his eyes and pinched his nose. "Maybe you are right not to take active cases any more, because I will always, always do everything in my power to stand in the way of anyone who tries to hurt you. You are still the brilliant man you were when I met you, but now, you are more thoughtful, a bit more cautious, possibly. Yes, you have more to lose now, but I am willing to stand by your side if you want to take on those cases that you used to drive Greg crazy for. I am your friend, your lover, your husband, but above all these things, I am your partner. Your partner, Sherlock. In all things. Do you hear me, love?"

Sherlock nodded, then pulled John into a slow, deep kiss that spoke more clearly than any words that he could think of to say to John at that moment. 

When John could catch his breath again, he sighed, "I love you too." Then he fell asleep in Sherlock's arms.

 

Got any good cases floating around these days? - SH

A couple. Why, interested? - GL

Might be - SH

Gettin' back on the ol' horse again, eh? - GL

Yeah, I've been an arse. - SH

Come in tomorrow morning, got a nice triple that's right up your street. - GL

Thanks - SH

Anytime - GL

 

"What?" Molly mumbled.

"He's finally letting himself off the hook."

"Good. Now, turn that thing off and get over here."

"Yes, love."


	4. unfinished stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spring morning in Sussex, some heavy duty angst, some fluff.

John reached over and found an empty space, both Sherlock and Buttercup had been up for hours, up with the sun. He shook his head in wonder; but he smiled. The move, a few weeks ago had brought Sherlock peace, a routine that kept him busy, happy, and best of all, at the end of the day, hungry and exhausted.

He threw on his robe and went in search of tea. He found a shirtless Sherlock refilling the kettle; he must have heard John moving around in their bedroom. "Morning, love." He wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his neck.

"John, I'm-" Sherlock flinched. 

"-in need of a shower?" John suggested, gently.

"Yes, that-" Sherlock put the kettle on and John waited. As long as they had been together, Sherlock was still uncomfortable with John seeing his scars in the light of day. John thought it was long past time that they deal with it. It was just them, they had been together over thirty years, they had very few secrets, one of them was Sherlock's scars. They were a fact, a constant presence that reminded them of the time they had lost and rarely talked about except for that brief time when Sherlock needed to tell John about his time away, but it had been more of a download of files, they had never really talked about it. John had never asked, because he was so grateful to have him back that he didn't want to disturb their fragile peace. Now, he thought they were ready.

"-and?" John prompted.

"You have questions - right. Yes, John." He took a deep breath, turned off the kettle as it screamed and poured the water over the tea in their enormous teapot. He sat down and covered John's hands that rested on the tabletop. "You have been patient, and I am ready, you will need your tea and toast first, as it will take some time."

They sat quietly as they drank their tea, and munched on toast with jam. When they finished, Sherlock stood and took John's hand and led him to their room. He began to speak, but John stopped his words with his fingers. He closed his eyes and removed his robe and t shirt. "I've never told you about the day when this happened to me, have I?" He glanced down at his shoulder, Sherlock hesitated and shook his head before he reached out to touch the large, pale, spider web shaped blemish on John's otherwise still golden, perfect skin. He had some permanent nerve damage, and the loss of mobility was something he had learned to live with; it had ended the promise of a brilliant surgical career upon his return home, and his service in the military that had meant so much to him.

He showed Sherlock a nearly invisible mark, a scar he had never talked about. "My limp was mostly psychosomatic, but it began its life as a real wound, a bullet nicked my knee, took me down. I bandaged it as well as I could, and went back to doing triage and patching up those I could help, we were trapped in an unfriendly village, and I was the only one with any medical training-" 

Sherlock watched John's face return to that place and time, and helped him sit on the edge of the bed; he sat next to him and took his left hand in both of his, and let John catch his breath. "You don't have to do this, there is no quid pro quo here, I know what this will do to you, love. I -"

"No, I've never told anyone, and I want to, I need to tell you - please, let me?" Sherlock sighed and nodded, but helped him move to the pillows, so Sherlock could hold him as he returned to Afghanistan, to the day that changed his life and Sherlock's forever.

"The night before was so calm, I should have known, should have expected the hellish day to follow, but we were simply delivering supplies, we were barely armed, sitting ducks, I realised later when I remembered the day, much later. We were sent to the wrong village, we had bad intel that indicated the place we were headed to was peaceful, had stabilised." John paused and closed his eyes. "We had made it into the main square, into the open, when we were fired upon, we had no shelter outside of our armoured vehicles, and soon they were of no use. One of my men was able to radio for help giving base our location before he - " He leaned against Sherlock's chest, breathing him in, Sherlock ran his fingers through John's silver hair, and he felt John gain a bit of strength that allowed him to continue. " - died, had a wife, two kids at home, was an architect, who signed up because he'd never left home, 'wanted to see the world...' He was on his third tour, a week from going home - saved my life."

"Saved both of our lives." Sherlock whispered, "he saved both of us that day." He placed John's fingers on the inside of his left elbow, letting him feel the ghosts from his wilder days. "I was days away - the day I met you, I was lost, had been lost for so long until you showed up uninvited that morning. After I left the lab, I went home and dumped everything, even my stash of cigarettes, got that chair, your chair, from Mrs. Hudson, cleaned like crazy, though you'd never know it, actually wore myself out enough to sleep for six hours. To this day, I'm convinced that's why it took me so long to realise it was the cabbie, I had never tried to solve a case after that many hours of sleep."

"And all these years I thought it was my rugged beauty that distracted you..." John kissed his neck, and Sherlock could hear a smile in his voice.

"You've never been a distraction, love, your presence has always meant everything, made my life better, brighter - "

John sighed and watched as Sherlock moved so he was lying on his stomach. "Pick a scar, any scar..."

"Don't be flip about this, Sherlock." John admonished him gently.

"I'm sorry, love, not my intention, honestly. These scars you see, left their stories, in my skin, in my mind and on my heart. You were never the cause of them, yet you have carried the blame for so long. I need you to know, you were never to blame."

"But, I -"

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, the blame lies in my youthful arrogance, and in the creative cruelty of the people who left their marks, it was never your fault, not a bit of i-tttt- John." His voice stuttered to a stop when he felt John straddle his legs and place kisses upon a sweeping curve of cigarette burns that ran down his left hip.

He caught his breath and whispered, "Rome, her name was Terese, funny how so many of them told me their names, some of them knew who I was, and had reasons for hating me, others simply enjoyed their career choices, didn't care who I was. There were some who almost felt sorry for me, those are the neater scars, they sometimes cleaned the wounds and bandaged them up; she was not one of them. From what I remember, she was beautiful, blonde, green eyed..."

"Was?" John took a breath.

Sherlock closed his eyes and muttered, "she made the mistake of showing mercy, she could tell the cuffs she had used were cutting into my skin, and she took them off - no, I'm sorry John, God - this is selfish of me, to want you to know this part of me." He rolled over and took John into his arms. He felt John relax into him. "It's enough that you were willing to listen, that you are here, with me still. It amazes me, some days, you know."

"What does?" John pushed himself up to look at his face, which was calm, at rest as he'd never seen before.

"I thought the love I have for you was unchangeable, I was wrong, it grows at such an alarming rate, I can't keep up with it."

John laughed. 

"I can still see so clearly the light in your eyes that first time you made me that thing with peas, how it felt the first time you kissed me, the first time we made love - what we have now, how we have grown since then, the look you give me as I fall asleep in your arms every night -"

"I know, love."

"I don't regret anything I ever did, to get home to you. I need to know that you will stop carrying the load that isn't yours, was never your burden to carry." He narrowed his eyes and saw something in John's face that satisfied him, so he nodded, then kissed John soundly. "I don't suppose you'd join me in a shower before I show you the work Buttercup and I did this morning?"

John kissed him back and felt something had changed - in the incomplete sharing of their stories, they had finally both found peace. "I love you, I love you so damn much. Thank you."

"What for?"

"For you. Just for being you."

"Never had much of a choice, but I wouldn't be me without you. You must know that. Shower?"

"Mmmm." John nodded as he helped Sherlock slip off the bed.

 

They held onto each other as they showered, then John washed Sherlock's hair, trying not to notice how the silver strands now outnumbered the raven; Sherlock purred under his hands, making John laugh, then kissed him soundly before he returned the favour. John realised that Sherlock was right; their love was changeable, had changed from that first fragile kiss to the present unwavering time tested passion that resided in them both. They got out, dressed for the slightly chilly weather, called for Buttercup who had been napping by the fire and walked into their newly fenced off gardens. John reached for Sherlock's hand and sighed. "It's beautiful, love."

"No, you are beautiful, John." Sherlock squeezed his hand and whispered. "You are beautiful, love."


	5. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly drives down to Sussex to surprise Sherlock...a bit of angst, a bit of fluff

She watched him move in the garden, and smiled as he bent down to whisper something to Buttercup, probably something about bees or science - she gasped as she saw him stand and remove his shirt. She had never seen his scars, she had never asked, he had never shown her, or talked about what had happened during his time away. She went back to her car, to give herself some time to recover and to refresh her lipstick. She sighed, then got out of the car, walked up to the door and knocked. Of course, there was no doorbell here.

"Moll?" Sherlock came to the door drying his hands. "Is everything okay? You look-"

"I'm fine, I just wanted to come see you, it's been a few weeks, texts and Skype aren't nearly enough." She knew she was babbling, but still managed to look him in the eye as she always had before.

He nodded and kissed her as she walked through the door for the first time since Becca and Missa's wedding a few weeks before. "You saw," he whispered, as he sat on the couch.

She sighed and sat down. "I had no idea."

"You weren't meant to - I never intended you to know." He admitted to her, quietly.

"Why? Why couldn't you tell me? I -" She knew hundreds of reasons, but was afraid to know his.

"Honestly? Partly vanity. I never wanted you to know how I had changed from who you knew when we were kids. Mostly, though, I didn't think I could survive your pity. I believed wrongly that my appearance would change how you thought of me. Sometimes I forget that you are the only one who has been there for almost every weak and strong moment of my life. I still can't even tell John everything, I've tried. I can't. If I told either of you of my torture, I'd also have to tell you how I escaped, and you truly do not want to know what I am capable of. And I cannot make myself go back there, not even for you. I'm sorry. God knows I'm far from perfect; you, more than anyone else on the planet, know that, but I never wanted you to have to try to understand -" He looked down at his hands and shook his head. "I can't, Molly."

"Shh. Stop. Please. No, look at me. I came here to see my best friend, maybe have a cuppa, a biscuit and a chat?"

Sherlock grinned his lopsided grin at her and pushed the curls from his eyes. "Would you have time to give me a bit of a trim?" 

"Course." She stood and walked over to him, and gave him her hand. "I don't think I ever told you how happy I was when I saw you, when you came back to us. We didn't talk much then, but I hope you knew, how grateful I was for what you did, and that you were able to make it back. All that matters to me, all that has ever mattered is that you've been here, all this time. I hope you know I could never think less of you no matter what you did. Look at me, please?"

Sherlock stood and managed to meet her eyes; her warm, amber eyes, and as always, found nothing but love in them; there was no judgment, no pity, just the same Molly who had always been there for him time and time again.

He nodded and smiled at her, and murmured, "John found some magnificent blackberries, they are an old variety, almost extinct, he made some amazing preserves from them."

"John is making his own jam?" Molly grinned at him, then started laughing. He joined in until they almost fell down, but they held each other up and were about to walk into the kitchen when John wandered in with Buttercup. 

"Molls? Didn't know you were coming." He yawned, then walked over to give her a kiss. "Tea, need some tea, some biscuits and did Sherlock tell you, I'm making jam now?" 

"Yeah, love, he may have mentioned it." Molly grabbed Sherlock's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Love you," she whispered.

"Ditto." He winked at her, then went into the kitchen to help with tea.


	6. more bees...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This should be the last bit for these bits, it's kind of a set up for yet another part of Epiphany...teensy bit of angst...Becca's a little sweary, just a teensy bit.

"Uncle 'Lock!" Becca yelled, as she carried Jessie into the kitchen.

"Bee? What's wrong?" Sherlock tossed his book onto the top of the huge yet still unread stack of books and walked in to find Becca holding a scratched and banged up yet mostly unhurt auburn girl of five. She put her daughter in a chair carefully and crossed her arms.

"Tell him. Tell Uncle 'Lock what you were doing." Becca glared down at her unrepentant daughter.

"I heard bees." She said matter-of-factly as she wiped a dirty, scratched hand across her face.

Sherlock sighed as he sat in a chair next to her. "There are bees in safe places, Jess, you know you can always help me with the hives."

Jessie rolled her eyes, as if to say, grownups, even Uncle 'Lock..."No...they weren't our bees, they sounded diff'rent. Took me all morning, but I finally found them."

Sherlock's curiosity got the better of him. "Let's get you cleaned up, then you can show me, yeah?" Jessie nodded, as Sherlock went to the cupboard for one of their three first aid kits. They never seemed to have enough plasters, gauze, tape and antibiotics, especially when Jessie and her mums were visiting.

He poked his head into the back room where John was working on his third book. After his first took forever mostly because he wouldn't hire someone to type it for him, and wouldn't use those 'speaky things' as he called them, he finally caved when Sherlock reminded him gently of the other things his hands were useful for when they didn't hurt quite so much, and when Sherlock bought him the newest version of the best 'speaky thing,' he fell in love for only the second time. "Love? Jess was up in the trees again, could use a bit of help."

John looked up and shook his head. "What was it this time? Another nest?" He glanced over at the row of nests that lined his window sill.

"Nope, bees."

"Bees?" He sighed and took off his headset and looked at the mostly empty screen. He was trying to reconstruct the last few days before the Fall, and couldn't quite - "Yeah, be there in a second."

Sherlock had a bowl of warm water and a couple of flannels soaking, when he walked into the kitchen.

"Jess -" John tried to look imperiously through his specs at her, but he could never fake the face with her for long, especially when she looked like a bramble bush had attacked her. "Sweetie -"

"Sorry, Uncle John, I just lost my balance, I know, I pwomised. But, I heard b-"

"Bees, I know. Let us get you patched up and you can take Uncle 'Lock out to show him, before he blows a gasket."

Becca got herself a mug of water and sat down wearily. "You two - you are as bad as she is. And I will call Mum, and tell her if either of you try to go up that tree."

John and Sherlock both glanced up at her from their ministrations and gave her 'The Look'.

"Uh - uh. NoPe. That's what Billy is for, what you two, on your own, I might add - hired him for - the kid in the cottage, remember? We are not having a repeat of last summer. I'm too young for a heart attack and Jess starts school in the fall. No broken bones, please?"

Sherlock and John nodded sadly, finished their patchwork of plasters, and each gave the auburn haired, green eyed little girl kisses, helped her up and cleaned up the table. Sherlock took Jess by the hand and went to find Billy. Becca sighed and pinched her nose.

"There are only a couple of deep scratches, most shouldn't leave any scarring, Bee." John reassured her.

"I know, I just got scared. I couldn't find her, she was supposed to help me make you two tea, and she loves doing that, when I look up and see her reach up on her toes on this branch. I didn't mean to yell, but I got scared and she lost her balance, and I just stood there and watched her fall...I couldn't move." She put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, Uncle John. Fuck. I'm sorry - I - fuck."

"No. Sweetie, it's okay, shhh." He held her hand and shook his head. "In fact, you just busted up a nasty case of writer's block for me. I couldn't figure out how to write about the time shortly before he left, reconstructing it didn't feel right, most people know the 'what' and the 'how' from the blog and the press, for all their flashy headlines, they got some of it right. I need to write how it felt, to live though his life, our life crumbling apart and then have to watch him - it was exactly what you just said. I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe for a moment. It was slow motion until it wasn't, then everything sped up way too fast."

Sherlock and Jessie flounced back in through the door at that moment. "John, Bee! Come on!" He stopped when he saw their faces, and they saw the joy and childlike wonder start to ebb away.

"Coming, coming, we're coming!" John squeezed Becca's hand and she winked at him. "Hold on fer a damn second, let me get the phone so we can take hundreds of snaps." Sherlock nodded and grinned back down at Jessie and he pulled her back out the door.

"You were right to bring him here when you did, London was -"

"Yeah, too many memories, too many triggers. We both got to start over. He doesn't even miss it really, it's changed enough that there really isn't a reason for us to go back, except to see you and Missa and Jess and your parents..."

"I know. And now that she'll be in school..."

"We've talked about getting a second house built, or at least adding a studio if you and Missa would want - no - you wouldn't want to get stuck here with us old farts."

"Are you kidding? Missa loves painting here, I don't see her until she crawls into bed at like two in the morning, she's still sleeping...we'd love nothing better than to live here. I want, we want to be here for the two of you. Jess could learn so much more from the two of you than she could sitting at a desk all day...please?"

John looked into her eyes and grinned. "He loves her, so much. He wishes you all were around more, he wants to teach her everything and she wants to learn..."

"Please, let us, we'll still have our place there when we need it, let us be here for you?" John nodded and Bee hugged him tightly.

"JOHN!! BEE!!! You're missing every - thing! Get OUT here, NOW!

 

"You have to sleep, love."

"There's so much work to do, John. I have to decide what to teach Jess next, we'll start a new garden that can be hers...and the new bees...John...they are just brilliant...and I'll sit down with Miss and start designing the stud-i-o." He curled up against John and was out like a light.

John kissed Sherlock's silver mop of curls, and reached for his phone.

 

Can you come down and give him a haircut soon? - JW

Tomorrow soon enough? :) I hear through the grapevine that the girls will be moving to the farm soon? - ML

Yeah, it just sorta happened, I never thought, I had hoped, but never dreamed they would want to live here - JW

They love you both, and Jess. She worships the two of you, all I ever hear about these days is what craziness you two are up to. - ML

Bring Greg with you this time, I miss hanging out with him, I do miss you both, it's just easier - JW

I know, love, yeah, I'll toss him in the car with me, fresh air will be good for him. We'll be there in time for tea. - ML

Kettle will be waiting. Love you - JW

Ditto - ML


End file.
